


Holding Pattern

by somehowunbroken



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: zombiebang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been – well, some amount of time since the zombies arrived. They’re – somewhere, Danny knows, but he’s not sure where, or when they’re coming. All he knows any more is the inside of this storage unit and his partner. And waiting, and possibly losing his mind.</p><div class="center"></div>
            </blockquote>





	Holding Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://zombiebang.livejournal.com/profile)[ **zombiebang**](http://zombiebang.livejournal.com/) 2011. Thanks to [](http://shinysylver.livejournal.com/profile)[**shinysylver**](http://shinysylver.livejournal.com/) for the fusion idea, and for the beta work. Thanks also to [](http://theeverdream.livejournal.com/profile)[**theeverdream**](http://theeverdream.livejournal.com/) for her amazing artwork.

[   
](http://theeverdream.livejournal.com/110813.html)   


  
“This sucks,” Steve says bluntly. He’s bent over a table, pulling his sidearm apart for probably the fifteenth time this morning.

Danny shrugs. “Pretty much.” His own sidearm is spotless. He knows this; he just finished putting it back together twenty minutes ago. “There’s really not much we can do about it, though.”

“Eh,” Steve says noncommittally. “I feel like we should be able to do something.” The pieces of his Beretta don’t make a sound as he pulls them apart and sets them on the stained rag he has spread over the table. “I mean, how long have we been here?”

“I don’t even know any more,” Danny sighs. “A month? Two?” He stares out the door of the storage unit they’ve co-opted into a base of sorts. They’re on the outskirts of what had been the downtown area, before. “Maybe four.”

“Two, probably,” Steve estimates. He’s got the gun fully apart now, and he’s rubbing part of the barrel with an oiled rag. “Given how much your beard has grown into Tom Hanks territory-”

“Really, we’re going there again? I thought I told you last week that _Cast Away_ jokes aren’t funny when you’re _trapped on a goddamned island_ -”

“-it’s been at least that long,” Steve finishes. He sets down the barrel and picks up the slide as he tilts his head. “You said that last week?”

“I said a lot of things last week.”

“No, I mean-” Steve shakes his head. “The thing about the _Cast Away_ jokes. Was that last week?”

“Yes,” Danny snaps. “No. I don’t know.”

Steve continues to rub the slide of the Beretta, polishing and polishing. “Sometimes I wonder if time even passes, you know?” He shrugs. “Like, when we get out of here, will it still be June?”

“June comes and goes,” Danny says philosophically. “It might be June again by the time we get out.”

“There’s a thought,” Steve says. He’s moved on to the locking block.

Danny watches Steve as he polishes each piece of the Beretta, even and methodical. Steve snaps the pieces of the pistol back together neatly and stands, walking over to the entrance to the storage unit and looking out.

Danny sits by the table and pulls out his sidearm, a nice Walther PPK/S that he’d managed to rescue from his decimated apartment before they’d holed up here.

It could always use a little more cleaning.

-0-

“Fuck,” Danny swears, shaking his hand as if he can dislodge the pain. He stops after a few seconds and brings his hand to his face, examining it closely. At least it’s not bleeding too much. Blood, he thinks, might attract them. Or it might not – honestly, he’s not sure which is the truth any more. He’s not sure he ever knew.

“What?” Steve calls from his spot near the door. It’s his turn to keep watch, or at least he claims it is; Danny’s actually pretty sure it’s not, but he’s not going to fight it. If Steve wants to be the one to sit in the sun, that’s fine by Danny. At least it keeps him busy.

“What?” Steve asks again, and now he’s standing, walking over to grab Danny’s hand. “Shit, Danny, what did you do? Does it hurt?”

“Hurt,” Danny snorts. “He wants to know if it – yes, Steven, it hurts. I let the slide fall back too quickly and pinched my hand in the gun. It’s not the best feeling in the world.”

Steve has Danny’s hand up close to his face. “It looks like it hurts.”

“And once again, he’s listening like a pro,” Danny mutters, yanking his hand back, but Steve doesn’t let go. “If you’re not going to help, let me go.”

“How can I help?” Steve asks, concerned, and Danny is suddenly touched. He kind of feels like a jerk – it’s not easy on either of them, being cooped up like this, but Steve is trying. They both are.

“I don’t know,” Danny says, half-sarcastic and half-wondering if he can really push himself to go over that line that’s always been between them. They’ve been toeing it for a year, maybe two, and since they’ve been in here, it’s been happening more and more often. Danny looks into Steve’s eyes, swallows, and backs down. “Don’t suppose you have any antiseptic left in the first aid kit?” he asks, instead of saying _kiss it better, babe, come on_.

“It could be worse,” Steve offers after they’ve gotten Danny’s hand cleaned and bandaged. It’s not a bad cut, not really, and Danny knows they’ll regret wasting the medical supplies when the time comes, but he can also tell that they both feel better for having gone through the motions.

“Worse,” Danny snorts. “Right. How, exactly, could this be worse?”

Steve shrugs. “Grace got out.”

Danny thinks about Grace for far longer than it takes him to come to a reply. “That’s true.”

“It would be worse if-”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence, Steve craning his neck every once in a while to glance out the door, but the only thing trying to come in is the sun.

-0-

“Tell me a story,” Steve says suddenly. It’s late morning, or early afternoon, Danny thinks; for all he knows, though, it could be earlier. Or later. Steve was right when he said that time passes weirdly in here, if it passes at all. That was earlier today, Danny thinks, or maybe it was yesterday.

“A story,” Danny muses. “A story about what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve shrugs. “A story about something that’s not here. The mainland.”

“The mainland,” Danny echoes. “You’re asking for a story about Jersey? Really?” He chuckles mirthlessly. “Things are really shot to hell if you’re asking that, babe.”

“Nah,” Steve contradicts. “I’m interested. I was always interested. We just never really had time before.”

Before. It almost sounds like it should have a capital letter. Before and After.

Danny can’t tell what Steve wants; he might actually want the story, or he might be spoiling for a fight. It’s hot, though, and the sun is beating its path across the floor, so Danny opts for a story.

“So my first date with Rachel,” he starts, but Steve shakes his head.

“Your family,” he says, knocking his shoulder into Danny’s. “Tell me about growing up.”

“Pushy,” Danny says irritably, even though he’s not really annoyed. “Fine. Christmas 1986. I’m ten. All I want is-”

“Your two front teeth,” Steve cuts in, grinning.

“Asshole, I had my teeth when I was ten,” Danny shoots back. Okay, so maybe he’s a little annoyed. “You want toothless, go for my sister Ginny. She was seven that year, and she lost almost all of her baby teeth at the same time.”

“That sounds interesting,” Steve says, leaning further into Danny’s space.

“Not really,” Danny shrugs. “She pulled them all out. Figured if she lost them all at once, the tooth fairy might give her a bonus or something.”

“Oh,” Steve replies, leaning back. He sounds a little disappointed. “Weird. And gross.”

“You’re telling me,” Danny says.

There’s silence for a few minutes until Steve nudges him. “So what happened?”

“Hm?” Danny slides his gaze from the abandoned shop front across the street to Steve’s face.

“Christmas,” Steve says impatiently. “1986. What was it like?”

Danny blinks. “I got a bike.”

“A bike,” Steve prompts. “Was it a nice bike?”

“It was fine,” Danny says. “Matty wanted a bike. I wanted rollerblades.”

“Oh,” Steve repeats. “Weird.”

“Weird,” Danny agrees.

-0-

“Let’s go,” Danny says abruptly. Steve looks up from his spot on the floor as Danny paces across the floor.

“Go where?” Steve asks, squinting at the shop front. It had been a hardware store, Danny thinks, or maybe a bookstore. Either way, now its windows are shattered and the shelves empty.

“Away,” Danny replies, gesturing out – out of their storage unit, out of the neighborhood they’re in, out of Hawaii. “We should just go.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?” Danny doesn’t want to whine, but he knows he comes close.

Steve doesn’t even glance at Danny. “The zombies.”

“Right,” Danny sighs, sitting heavily against the wall. “Wo Fat’s genius, evil plan. Zombies.”

“Zombies,” Steve agrees.

Danny scratches his hand idly. “I sort of thought they’d be here by now.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, eyes scanning the end of the road, the alley they can see from the entrance. “I kind of did, too.”

“Soon, though,” Danny reminds Steve. “Any minute now.”

“He said they’d be coming,” Steve agrees, still intent on the horizon. “And we saw them that one time, over by the high school. Right?”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees. He remembers that, he thinks. “The zombie girl.”

“Boy,” Steve corrects.

“Boy, right,” Danny agrees again. “The zombie boy with the…”

“The backpack,” Steve supplies.

“The zombie boy with the backpack, yeah,” Danny says. He remembers that. Right.

“And he had…” Steve motions with his hand. Danny squints at him for a minute, trying to interpret his movement.

“Arms?” Danny finally asks.

Steve shakes his head, but then he nods. “Yeah, he had arms.”

Danny sighs. “How long have we been here?”

“Three months,” Steve estimates. “Maybe four.” He fiddles with his Beretta, pulling it out of the holster and aiming it at the shop front across the street. “Maybe a year, Danno. I don’t know.”

“Don’t,” Danny says sharply. “I told you not to do that.”

“You never minded before,” Steve says with what could definitely be termed a pout. “Before-”

“Before was Before,” Danny reminds him. “Now it’s After. Before doesn’t count.”

Steve’s pout intensifies. “But-”

“Let’s just stop talking for a minute, do you mind?” Danny interrupts, rubbing his head.

Steve goes quiet.

-0-

“Danny!” Steve’s voice is loud, close, and if it were any other voice, Danny would lash out instinctively. As it is, he recognizes that it’s Steve, but hits him in the face anyway.

“Ow,” Steve complains as Danny sits up from where he’d apparently fallen asleep against the wall. Steve touches his nose gingerly. “You didn’t have to hit me.”

“You didn’t have to wake me,” Danny grumbles in response. “I was dreaming. It was a great dream, let me tell you.”

“Please don’t,” Steve says with a groan.

“I was having an awesome dream,” Danny sighs. He had been, too – him and Steve on that damn beach behind Steve’s house, waves and beers and no threat of danger. Hell, it had been a magical dream – the sand hadn’t even stuck when Danny had rolled on top of Steve and grinned down at him.

Steve sighs, for no reason that Danny can tell, and sits back. “It sounded like a nightmare to me, which is why I woke you.”

“A nightmare,” Danny repeats. Steve nods.

“You were making weird noises,” Steve says. “I thought maybe you were thinking about the zombies attacking.”

“You woke me from a blissfully zombie-free dream,” Danny informs his partner.

Steve’s face falls. “Sorry.” He leans a little further back. “Go back to sleep. Maybe you’ll have another dream like that.”

Danny shakes his head. He knows that zombie-free dreams and few and far between. If he goes back to sleep now, he’ll probably fall right in the middle of some huge zombie battle in his head, watching as zombies hold Steve down and bite and claw and-

“Do you remember the story about Pele and the flood?” Danny asks, shaking his head to clear the thoughts.

Steve blinks at him. “Yeah. Hawaiian mythology was one of the things we studied in school.”

“Tell me about it,” Danny says, stretching out and laying his head in Steve’s lap.

“Don’t you know?” Steve asks, frowning down at him. “I mean, it’s not really an obscure myth, Danny. I thought you’d know.”

“I’ve heard it,” Danny says dismissively. “Tell me again.”

Steve sighs, but he doesn’t actually sound annoyed. “So Pele was born to Kane-hoa-lani and Ka-hina-li’i.”

“Right,” Danny says, staring up at Steve as Steve loses himself in the story. His fingers twine through Danny’s hair, comforting and soft, and Danny closes his eyes to listen.

He manages to have two nice dreams in a row. That’s something.

-0-

“This sucks,” Danny remarks. It’s mid-afternoon, and he’d woken from his second nap in a much better mood than he had from his first. He hadn’t hit Steve this time, at least.

Steve shrugs. He’s looking at their food stores; things look nearly empty, judging by how Steve is frowning. “We’ll have to go scavenging tomorrow.”

Danny stretches his arms. “What’s left?”

“Beets,” Steve reports, pulling a can from the duffel bag in the corner. “Seven cans of beets.”

“Beets are not food,” Danny starts. It’s a speech he’s given before, laid out and then carefully folded and stored away for later. He takes it out now and picks up like he’d never stopped. “Beets are disgusting, is what beets are. I ask you, What kind of food is that color?”

Steve shrugs, just as he does each time they have this conversation. “Beets?”

“You are not amusing,” Danny replies, settling comfortably into his monologue, drawing the words around himself like a blanket, a little worn but more comfortable for it. “Nobody eats beets, Steve. And for the purposes of this conversation, you do not count,” he adds as Steve opens his mouth. Steve snaps it shut again with a scowl. “I mean it. If there’s nothing else in there, I’ll just wait until we go out tomorrow. I’m not eating beets out of a can, end of the world or no.”

Steve directs his scowl at the inside of his bag, as if he might be able to conjure something else up with the sheer force of his mind. It’s a little ridiculous, but Danny feels like if anyone would be able to do it, it would be Steve, hands down. He sticks his hand back into the bag of beets and rummages around for a moment before pulling something out triumphantly.

“Carrots,” he says with a flourish, presenting the can to Danny as if it’s a priceless treasure. To be fair, it’s not beets, so it comes close in Danny’s opinion.

“Carrots,” Danny sighs. “Much better than beets. Give it here.”

Steve doesn’t argue as he opens the can and hands it over. Danny digs the carrots out and sucks them into his mouth slowly. They taste a little bit like the can, a sharp tang over their natural sweetness, but they’re way better than beets. Danny shudders and fishes another one out.

“I’m wondering if this is worth it,” Steve says as he takes a bite out of a beet. Pink juice dribbles down his chin for a second before he wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“Of course it isn’t,” Danny says practically. “There are very few things that are worth living in an eight-by-ten hole with you, McGarrett, and the threat of zombies is not on that list.”

“Nice,” Steve deadpans. “You’re a classy guy, Williams.”

“You know it,” Danny agrees. “Did you have an alternative, or were you just illuminating your thoughts for the hell of it?”

Steve shrugs and doesn’t say anything, but Danny sees his eyes flick to the gun holstered at Danny’s hip.

“Right,” Danny says, rolling his eyes. “Being dead, that’s totally better than waiting here.”

“You don’t know that it isn’t,” Steve counters. Okay, Danny has to admit, he has a point there. Still.

“Grace,” Danny says aloud, watching as Steve straightens a little. He takes a thoughtful bite out of his beet and chews before nodding.

“Right,” he agrees. “Grace.”

Danny nods like the conversation is finished. “Grace,” he repeats. It’s like a mantra, something to keep him going. He doesn’t really want to eat his gun, not at the moment, but he has no idea how long he’s going to be stuck here. He won’t leave his baby, though, not without a fight. Besides, if he’s gone, who will rid her home of zombies and clear the way for her to come back?

He’s about to open his mouth and share this insight when he notices that Steve has gone absolutely still. “Listen,” he says softly, and Danny goes perfectly still, tilting his head to the side and concentrating. “Is that-”

They sit in silence, but Danny doesn’t hear anything. “I don’t think it was anything,” he says finally. Steve frowns and turns his attention to his nearly empty can of beets.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I was sure I heard something coming.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Danny replies, looking sadly into his own empty can. “Carrots aren’t much of a dinner.”

Steve is silent for a moment before he thrusts his can out. “Want a beet?”

-0-

“Someone’s coming,” Danny hisses, and Steve has his Beretta back together and pointing at the entrance in less than a minute. Danny read once that it takes three minutes to field strip a gun like Steve’s. That author clearly never met Steve.

“Oh,” Steve says a minute later as Kono walks slowly around the corner. She’s leading Chin, who’s leaning heavily on his cane, but is at least walking on his own.

(Danny had asked what happened, the last time Chin was here; Chin had gravely said that he’d been attacked, but had beaten off his attacker with the butt of his shotgun. Danny had asked if he’d been bitten. Chin had looked at him strangely, but said that no, he hadn’t. Danny’s still relieved about that.)

“Howzit?” Chin calls. Steve signals frantically, shushing the cousins, and Danny can’t help but agree. That’s suicide, calling out loudly enough for them to hear you. Or maybe it isn’t. He’s not sure any more.

“Hey,” Kono greets when she and Chin finally get inside. “How are you guys?”

“Holding up,” Danny replies, leaning over to hug her. She smells like the same coconut shampoo she always has, and he wonders how she’s gotten her hands on so much of it. He’s also curious as to how she’s using it. The water has been out for – weeks, or months. He’d be able to tell you, if he had any idea how long he’s been in here.

“Good,” Kono murmurs, and Danny realizes he’s still hugging her. He stumbles back a little, letting her go, and she smiles at him before turning to hug Steve.

“How are you really?” Chin asks, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I hate beets,” Danny volunteers. It’s enough of an answer, and Chin grins.

“It’s not much,” Chin says, reaching into his pack, “but I’ve got-”

“You,” Danny replies, staring at the half-finished bag of corn chips that Chin is offering, “are a god among men, Chin Ho Kelly. I bow down before you, no questions asked.”

Chin grins and shakes the bag, so Danny leans over and grabs it. There are a ton of chips in the bag, easily enough to fill him up, but Danny only takes one out before closing the bag as carefully as he can. The chip is salty and crisp, and it’s possibly the best thing Danny has had in weeks. Months, even.

“A god among men,” he repeats when he finishes the chip. “I owe you, man.”

“No worries,” Chin says easily. He looks over Danny’s shoulder at Steve, who is staring at the bag in Danny’s hands. “Share, brah, don’t be mean.”

Danny opens the bag and digs out a chip for Steve. He would have shared on his own. He’s not cruel.

“How are things out there?” Danny asks as Steve nibbles at his chip. There’s silence, and Danny manages to tear his eyes away from his partner’s ecstatic expression to look at Kono after a moment. “Kono?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers slowly. “We haven’t seen too much lately.”

“How so?” Danny asks, frowning. He and Steve had holed up to wait, but Chin and Kono had volunteered to be the front line, to keep an eye on things.

“There’s not a lot to report, Danny,” Chin shrugs. “Things have been pretty dead for a while now.”

There’s another moment of silence, and then Steve snickers, and that’s it, they’re all laughing helplessly.

“That was fucking terrible,” Danny gasps when he manages to calm himself. “Tell me you didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“I really didn’t,” Chin promises, and he’s either telling the truth or lying extremely well. Danny figures that it doesn’t really matter either way. “Anyway, there hasn’t been a lot going on. The streets are almost completely deserted. Everyone who could get out is out, and everyone left is…” Chin shrugs, but Danny doesn’t need help filling in those blanks. They’re dead, or wishing they were.

“Right,” Steve says after a minute. “So we have no idea when they’re coming.”

“Sorry,” Chin apologizes. “If we had any news, you know we’d tell you.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Will do,” Kono promises. She stands and turns to Chin. “We should get going. It’s a long walk back to where we’re staying at the moment, and we don’t make very good time.” Chin winces, but Kono just helps him up and heads to the door. “Keep cool, guys,” she says as she steps out into the fading light.

Chin hesitates before stepping out. “Think twice before you do anything rash,” he says, catching Steve’s eye. Steve flushes but nods, and Chin leans on Kono and they hobble out of sight.

“And in the meantime,” Danny says softly, “nothing happens.”

“What, you think this is boring?”

Danny shoots a look sideways at Steve. He can’t tell if Steve is being serious or sarcastic. “Somewhat.”

Steve grins, and Danny grins back.

-0-

Danny aims his gun at the entrance to the unit, but then figures the zombies wouldn’t bother with niceties like knocking and lowers it. A moment later, Kamekona sticks his head in. “Hey, brah, what’s doing?”

“Hey, brah,” Steve replies, finally lowering his gun as well. “We’re doing. How’s it out there?”

“Eh,” Kamekona shrugs. “You know the drill. I wake up, today is the same as yesterday, nobody comes for shave ice any more.” His massive shoulders lift and fall again. “Nothing has really changed, you know?”

Danny snorts. “There seems to be a lot of that going around.”

Kamekona’s grin comes more easily than Danny is expecting. “Sorry that there’s nothing to report.”

Steve sighs and glances back out the door. “So nothing’s gonna happen today.”

“I doubt it.”

“How’s it looking for tomorrow?”

Kamekona shrugs yet again. “I’m not gonna make you any promises, but it looks better than today, you know what I’m saying?”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah,” Danny echoes as Kamekona slaps Steve on the back and heads out, “thanks.”

-0-

Sleep is a long time in coming.

Danny isn’t normally a restless sleeper, but the whole situation just sucks. He’s been here for weeks, months, and every day is like another unending stretch of time laid out before him, another day where he’ll be stuck in this unit with Steve, waiting.

At least they might come tomorrow. At least the fight might start, and the sooner it starts, the sooner it can be over and done with.

“Hey,” Steve says in the darkness. Danny doesn’t jump, but it’s a close thing. “Do you remember – it was one of our first cases. The Serbians trying to take out that NSA guy, and the girlfriend kidnapping the kid.”

“Yeah,” Danny replies almost instantly. He remembers the ones with kids. “You swung from the catwalk on a chain when we busted into the warehouse.”

Danny doesn’t have to be able to see Steve to know that he’s beaming. “That’s the one.”

There’s silence for a moment before Danny asks, “What about it?”

“Hm?” Steve replies drowsily.

“The case,” Danny reminds him. “The kid with the NSA dad.”

“Oh,” Steve says, “nothing,” and then he’s asleep, soft snores echoing in the weird acoustics of the storage unit.

“Great,” Danny says to the ceiling. Now he’s got the kid in his head, the way the girlfriend had betrayed the two of them, how Kono had missed her Academy graduation, the little ceremony they’d had for her anyway. Danny’s fingers find his Saint Michael medal beneath his shirt and hold on tightly, even though he’s no longer sure if he’s holding more to the medal or the memories it represents.

“Maybe we should split up,” he says into the darkness. It’s an old argument, one he and Steve have had before; they’ve each argued for separation and they’ve each argued against it. “Maybe we’d be better off on our own.”

Steve doesn’t answer, but Danny doesn’t need him to. They’ll both wake up here in the morning.

-0-

Danny opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, trying to reconcile what he’s hearing with what he knows is going on.

“Steve,” he finally says. “Are you humming?”

The noise stops. “Yes?”

“Are you humming a children’s song about the Black Plague?”

Danny turns his head when he hears Steve set his Beretta down. “The Black Plague?”

“Don’t tell me you never learned what that song was about,” Danny sighs, sitting up and stretching. His back pops, and there’s a flare of pain, but it feels great after a few seconds. “Ring around the rosy, because there’s a ring around the marks. Pocket full of posies, because something had to cover up the stench of rotting corpses. Ashes, ashes, they burned the bodies so the disease couldn’t spread-”

“We all fall down,” Steve finishes. “Charming. We teach this to children?”

Danny shrugs and climbs to his feet. “It’s catchy.”

Steve snorts and picks up the Beretta. He must have been at it for a while already, because he snaps one piece back into place and pulls the slide back. The click echoes sharply in the unit.

“Hey,” he says, scanning the area just outside the unit. “I’m gonna see if I can hunt down some food. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Oh no you aren’t,” Danny replies, narrowing his eyes at Steve. “Like I’m going to let you go off on your own so you can hunt down the zombies under the guise of finding me a jar of mandarin oranges.”

“That was _once_ ,” Steve replies, exasperated. “And it was forever ago. Last month.”

“Maybe two months,” Danny suggests. “Which is why you might think it’s time to pull it again.”

Steve grins. “Would I ever leave you, Danno?”

“You might not come back,” Danny says darkly. “It’s pretty much the same thing in the end.”

The smile slips from Steve’s face. “Not on purpose.”

“Same thing,” Danny repeats. “Shut up and give me ten minutes, okay?”

Steve waits silently while Danny pulls the Walther apart, cleans it, and snaps it back together before they make their way out. It’s as close to Before as they get, slipping silently down the street, keeping to the middle of the road, communicating in hand signals and facial expressions. Steve quirks his eyebrow at an alley; Danny rolls his eyes. Danny nods at a cross street; Steve does some complicated thing with his fingers that boils down to _no fucking way_.

They reach the end of the street and quickly check what had once been a busy highway, but there’s no one coming – nothing coming, really, which is the actual concern. Danny pulls his head back and looks at Steve, who shrugs.

“It would be better if we split up,” Steve says, eyes always moving, watching for some sort of change.

“Maybe,” Danny concedes, checking the chamber of the Walther and patting his pockets. Everything is in place.

“Maybe,” Steve echoes, but they both take a right, walking down the deserted street.

-0-

“We’ve been here,” Danny says as they enter the Safeway. The doors slide open for them, but there’s no cheerful greeter, nobody to direct them to the shopping carts.

“Nah,” Steve says, grabbing a cart anyway. “We went to the one over on Ala Moana last time.”

“The time before that,” Danny tells him. “We went to the other place because this one was out of peanut butter.”

“Who runs out of peanut butter?” Steve asks, looking honestly mystified for a moment. “Don’t they have enough peanut butter to last through the apocalypse?”

Danny spreads his arms wide. “Apparently not.”

Steve shrugs. “I don’t remember getting peanut butter here,” he says, walking down the first aisle and surveying his choices in salad dressing. He grabs a bottle of ranch and tosses it into the cart. “Maybe that was the place on Ala Moana, and this is the new one.”

Danny sighs and walks alongside the cart, tossing things in as they go. It’s a few aisles before Steve stops the cart and stares. “Huh.”

“We should put a big X on the door,” Danny says after a moment. “No peanut butter here.”

“Maybe we should,” Steve agrees. There’s no paint in the store, so Danny ends up scrawling a sign onto the glass in permanent marker. He has to scrub away some black gunk on the door to do it, and he wonders for a second if he’s done this before – but he shakes his head to clear the thought. He’d remember something like that, wouldn’t he?

Either way, it’s Danny’s turn to take point as Steve pushes the cart down the street. Their return to the unit isn’t nearly as quiet as their departure – the cart has a bum wheel that squeaks and makes the whole thing pull to the right – but they make it back without being found.

Danny puts the food away by himself while Steve watches the road. It’s better than having him help. Steve always messes up the organizational system that Danny has set up.

-0-

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, sitting bolt upright. Danny is by his side in a flash, crouching down and putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“What, what,” Danny asks, scanning Steve’s body for visible injuries. He’d been asleep, and Danny had been watching, so it’s not like Steve had been attacked – but, Danny thinks, crazier things have happened.

“Danny,” Steve grinds out, staring out the entrance to the unit. He doesn’t seem to notice that Danny’s actually there, sitting right beside him.

“Steve,” Danny replies, shaking his shoulder a little. “Hey, babe, I’m right here. Talk to me, come on.”

Steve lets out a breath and sumps a little as he turns his head. “Danny?”

“Welcome back,” Danny offers. “What the hell?”

“I was falling,” Steve says after a moment. “I was on top of a high-rise.”

“Wait, wait, Superman can fly,” Danny objects. “You always seem to think you’re him, so what gives?”

Steve frowns. “And you were there, but you were – I don’t know, Danny.”

“Right,” Danny says a beat later. “Well, it’s over now, and it’s your turn to watch while I take a nap.”

Steve nods and shifts so he can stand and make his way to the entrance. Danny leans back to give him room, but Steve’s hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. Danny looks down, startled.

“Sleep well,” Steve says after a little too long, like it’s not what he was originally going to say. Danny doesn’t reply, just nods and tugs until Steve lets go and moves all the way to the door.

“Hell,” Danny sighs some time later. It’s impossible to tell how long; it might have been an hour, or ten minutes. Either way, he can’t sleep. “I hate everything.”

“Fuck you,” Steve replies from the door. His Beretta is hanging idly from his fingers, which, Danny thinks, is a weird description, no matter how accurate it is.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Danny says absently, scratching at his beard. It’s time to shave, he decides. It’s been – a while, at least, if only because the hair is thick and scratchy.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Steve counters.

“Jackass.”

“Numb nuts.”

“Moron.”

“Son of a whore,” Steve spits out, then stiffens. “Sorry.”

Danny sighs. Steve’s family issues are not Danny’s own, but he knows that with Steve, it’s often better to quit when you’re ahead. “It’s fine.”

“Still,” Steve replies quietly. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Seriously,” Danny cuts in, annoyed. That whole quitting while you’re ahead thing doesn’t work too well when Steve won’t actually let him quit. “I said it’s fine, so it’s fine. Give it a rest.”

“Right,” Steve says. Then, with a hint of a smirk, “Sorry.”

‘Jackass,” Danny repeats under his breath. Steve’s smirk just gets wider, and he opens his mouth, but freezes before saying anything. Danny is instantly on alert.

“Shh,” Steve breathes before Danny can even ask what he sees. “Did you hear that?”

“What, hear what,” Danny asks, but he’s already leaning forward, scanning the surrounding area. “What did you hear?”

“I thought it might be-” Steve starts, then frowns. “I don’t hear it any more.”

“Huh,” Danny replies. “Spidey senses failing you?”

Steve stops looking around outside for exactly long enough to frown at Danny and flip him the bird. “I could have sworn I heard something.”

“Wait,” Danny says, leaning out of the unit a little more. He can practically feel how much Steve wants to haul him back inside. “I think I hear-”

“What?” Steve asks, settling for leaning over Danny, pressed close against his back. Danny has the feeling that it’s Steve’s way of assuring himself that he can flatten Danny to the ground and shield him if there’s any hint of danger. It’s somewhere between endearing and really fucking annoying. Danny lets it go.

“Look,” Danny says, pointing down the road.

“Hey,” Chin calls, leaning heavily on Kono, who seems to be leaning just as heavily back on Chin. “Howzit?”

“Going,” Steve replies, standing to let them enter the unit. “What the hell happened to you?”

Kono shrugs as they walk inside. “You know.”

Danny wants to shake his head – no, he doesn’t _know_ , he’d like an explanation, thanks, but Steve is nodding solemnly like he has a clue.

“Good that you’re okay,” Steve says, and that, that’s something that Danny can’t just let go.

‘Okay,” he says, frowning and leaning back a little. “She’s not okay, Steven. She’s barely walking on her own, is what she is, and in what language is that okay? No, really,” he continues when Steve opens his mouth to speak. “I’d like to know, honestly, so I don’t make that mistake if I ever find myself in that region.”

“It’s okay, brah,” Kono says mildly, and Danny blinks.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Fine, then.”

Kono smiles, and they all sit in silence for a while before Chin coughs. “Anything interesting going on?”

Steve shrugs. “We’re out of peanut butter.”

“I wrote a note,” Danny adds, patting his pockets. He frowns when he doesn’t find anything, but he’s not sure why. He’d written a note, hadn’t he? He recalls something about a marker, at least, and a reminder. He mentally shrugs. If he can’t remember it, it must not be important enough to remember.

Steve nods, though. “You did.”

“Right,” Danny agrees. He turns to Kono. “So did that happen today?”

Kono shrugs. “Today, yesterday. Maybe the day before.”

“Was it-” Danny frowns. “Did you have that yesterday?”

“Did I?” Kono looks at her foot, her brow creased. “Chin, was my foot like this yesterday?”

Chin shrugs. “Might have been. Time kind of runs together, you know?”

“Time,” Danny repeats. “I guess it kind of does.”

“Speaking of running,” Kono interjects, looking at her watch. It doesn’t work. Danny remembers when it did, remembers when lots of things worked, when they worked. It has the same effect, though, as she and Chin get up. Chin leans on his cane, and Kono leans heavily on his side. “We’ll see you guys around, right?”

“You know where to find us,” Steve says as they go to the door.

“Same bat time,” Chin says, bizarrely cheerful, as they make their way down the street.

“Same bat channel,” Steve replies, waving as the cousins move away.

-0-

“Hey,” Kamekona says, peeking his head into the unit. “How’s my haole brothers?”

“Tell me you’ve got something,” Danny says, setting his Walther down. It’s clean; it’s been clean for – weeks, maybe months. Forever.

“Anything,” Steve adds from the back corner of the unit. He’s pawing through the supplies. Danny suspects it’s for something to do.

Kamekona just shrugs his massive shoulders. “I got nothing, brah,” he says, almost apologetic. “I really thought I would have news for you today. It sounded like something was going to happen, you know? But then…” He shrugs again. “Sorry.”

“Damn,” Steve says, more glum than angry. “I thought today might be the day.”

“Tomorrow looks good,” Kamekona promises. “I mean, as good as the zombie apocalypse can look, you know? Tomorrow for sure.”

“Tomorrow,” Danny repeats. “For sure.”

“For sure,” Kamekona agrees. “Something will happen tomorrow. I can feel it.”

“Are you sure it’s not just indigestion?” Danny feels compelled to ask. “It’s just that we’ve been here for weeks-”

“Years,” Steve interjects.

“-months now, and I’d like to know that there’s a reason for it,” Danny continues. “That’s all I’m saying. You’re sure?”

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Kamekona says solemnly. Danny isn’t sure if that’s supposed to be comforting or not; he’s not sure whether or not it actually _is_. “Anyway, it’s been nice seeing some friendly faces, but I gotta go.”

Steve doesn’t try to stop him; neither does Danny. They just watch as he ambles down the street, whistling something that sounds vaguely familiar but isn’t at all recognizable.

Danny sighs as he looks at the Walther, sitting on the table in front of him. Slowly, he reaches for it, pulling it apart piece by piece and lining everything up in order. He grabs the rag and the bottle of gun oil from the far corner and lifts the slide from the end of the line of parts.

It could always use a little more cleaning.

  



End file.
